


But I Believe You Are Pushing Your Luck

by TechyTechno



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Kinda not, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Underage Drinking, damn bro get a fucking therapist please, kinda dnd, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechyTechno/pseuds/TechyTechno
Summary: Marcel gets into a fight worse than the others.





	But I Believe You Are Pushing Your Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 9/25/20.

Everything hurts.

That was the only phrase that was going through Marcel's wretched, broken mind. Everything hurts- emotionally and physically, every bone and nerve in his body hurt. He was on his bedroom floor, in the middle of it to be specific, sobbing his heart out.

He had once again gotten in a fight with the ones he was forced to call his guardian figures. It was the usual; Marcel had done something stupid, or said something they didn't agree with, or something that didn't have to be blown up like this. They screamed, he screamed, and they fought for hours on end until they got tired and eventually just ignored eachother, never really making up. Just pretending it didn't happen, pushing it under the rug waiting for it to become better on it's own.

Of course, it never did, and when they did try to talk it out, it just made everything worse. Not only the situation, but also the pain and never-ending growing ache that he felt everyday. He didn't know how to define it- besides a pit of sadness always plaguing his heart, he didn't know what it was.

He wasn't sure on anything anymore. He didn't know who he was, or how he was supposed to act after his.. no. He wasn't going to think about that right now. That was what started this whole mess. They hit too close to home this time. He couldn't forgive them. Not like he ever did before, but definitely not now.

They would never understand how much it effected him. They weren't the ones who had to witness it and then almost be joined in with them. Everything changed. He never had a sense of adventure, he just stayed in his room, not only because his grandparents practically forced him to stay in the house against his will, but also because he lost all sense of belonging.

Nothing mattered anymore, he didn't wanna move or do anything. Just sit in his room and do whatever. He hardly left his room anymore, for multiple reasons. He was going to die if he ever left, and he wasn't going to be able to stay here forever either. He couldn't, it would be too painful for him.

Sometimes he just wanted to end it, and honestly, he would have nothing to lose. The only reason he didn't try was.. he.. wasn't sure- fuck. He got nothing- nothing to live for and nothing to keep him going on. He didn't even have a reason to be so hesitant to do it.

Marcel let out another shaky sob and looked down at his sharp, bloody sharp-finger tips. They reminded me of what made him a halfling, a mistake, what made his life so miserable. His own blood dripped from his claws, and the pain stinged the bloody injuries he had inflicted. He didn't regret doing the act itself, more so he hated the physical pain that came afterwards, when he had calmed down a little.

Marcel had begun to curl himself into a ball and sob harder, until an aggressive knock came from the other side of the door. He inhaled sharply, trying to control his shaky breathing and tears as he tried to remain quiet. Maybe he could fool whoever was there, to make them think he just left and wasn't in his room.

Of course, that didn't work, as the knocks progressively got more aggressive and heard heavy, loud breathing like someone was angry.

"Marcel Talltail, stop being ridiculous and get out here this instant! You know I didn't mean it like that." A harsh female voice boomed from the other side of the door. It could only be his grand mother, that bitch who started everything. She was crazy to think if talking to him aggressively would scare him enough to obey her. He stubbornly bit his lip and tried to hold his tongue.

"Marcel, you better get your ass out here before I bust down the door. I know you're there. Stop acting like this." She spat again, giving a sharp blow to the door that shook the whole tiny house they lived in. He took another shaky breath in. He still wasn't going to do it, no matter how scared he got, he stood his ground. Instead, he let out a loud, angry huff that he was sure she heard.

Silence.

Nothing happened for a few moments. Just the agonizing quietness that filled the house. He wasn't sure if it just him, but his mind began to feel fuzzy and painful as every noise around him seemed to have fizzled and faded. Not the silent breeze outside, or the birds chirping not knowing anything that happened in this shit world, just complete and utter silence. He could hear a faint ringing in his ears, but nothing more. It hurt his brain as he slowly pushed himself up and stared at the door, waiting to see if she were gone. Still nothing. Maybe she had backed off and stopped caring, whatever it was, Marcel was glad it was over. He looked back down at his hands that were holding his body up, closing his eyes and trying to remain calm.

That was until he heard another loud bang at the door, and another one, and many more to come after those. She was going through with it, he thought. She was going to bust down the door. Marcel spun around and froze. He wasn't expecting this, she never went through with her threats- he must've really got her angry this time.

As the door began to open violently, Marcel's breath became rapid and panicky again. He couldn't breathe. He was going to pass out if he didn't take a proper breath in. He tried, starting with inhaling through the nose but it didn't work. He coughed harshly as sobs escaped from his throat, further restricting his ability to properly breathe. As the bangs got louder and louder, he gasped for air and slammed his head down on the floor, making his headache even worse while he whined in distress.

Finally, it all ended with the door slamming against the wall, and Marcel knew she was in. He knew his grandfather wasn't going to intervene, as he always took her side in every argument that arose. Marcel sat back up and backed up onto the side of his bed, closing his eyes tight as he inhaled another sob clogging his throat.

"Marcel- you're in so much fucking trouble- how dare you run out of the living room like that! You're stressing your grandfather-" There was a brief pause, and then a intense exhale. "-IS THAT BLOOD?! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!"

Shit. She noticed. How was he gonna get out of this one? He didn't even start it this time. He wasn't the one who was called out and basically shamed for the way he acted, and being told to just move on and get over it- to stop dwelling on the past and that he should be over it by now. Marcel kept his eyes and mouth shut.

"Marcel, open your eyes or else i'm THROWING YOU ONTO THE STREETS!" Her voice rose again, which shook with anger. She threatened that alot. Both of his grandparents did. She could throw him out whenever she wanted and pleased, and he could do nothing about it. He couldn't survive on his own- he would die the week he was out on his own. He never really thought about it too much until now, where she would likely be too angry to even care about what happened to him, even if she didn't care at all before. He gave into his fear and obeyed, slowly opening his eyes to see her standing over him.

Marcel bit his quivering lip and stayed silent, waiting for her to speak again.

"Thats more like it, Marcey. Now do you mind telling granny why you can't just get your hand out of your ass and stop being overdramatic about the whole thing that happened?" She talked condescendingly, kneeling down to be at Marcel's level like he was a little kid. He cringed at her and looked away hurriedly, not wanting to look her in the eyes.

"Baby, you know you can speak to mommy about anything you need. We're always here to help you through anything." She brought her hand up and stroked Marcel's cheek gently with her hand, which made him flinch back. He knew she was trying to sound like mom to try and fuck with his head. To make him believe that she was still here. But it just plain didn't work. Even when his grandmother tried to sound soft and comforting, it sounded so forced, and fake, unlike her daughter who's soft and gentle song-like voice came naturally. The two female figures in his life differed greatly, one who had to try and be a decent person while the other just came naturally to them. She was nothing like his mother, never in a million years.

Marcel lifted his bloody arm off the ground and clutched his grandmother's wrist softly.

"You're not my mother." He snorted harshly.

Marcel's grandmother had to take a small doubletake, before letting out an unsettling chuckle.

"No, baby, I am. I always-"

"Cut the shit." Marcel spat in her face, rage finally taking over his instincts. "I know what you're trying to do and it won't work! Leave me alone."

"What? What am I trying to do?" She only smiled, stroking his cheek again and only laughed when Marcel flinched again. He was almost thankful that she was too focused on messing with him that she failed to notice the scars that littered his arms. Maybe she also forgot the small bits of blood that were on his floor.

"You're trying.. trying to-" Marcel tried to find the proper words to say, the right way to put it before he was cut off.

"Exactly. You're just trying to get yourself out of trouble, to get me feeling sad. I am sad. Marcey, do you want to see your old ma be hurt because of you?" She frowned and tried to look at him with a saddened look. Of course he took the bait and got angry.

"No of course I don't- you-"

"Why would you do this to us Marcel?" She let out a fake sob, obviously trying to fool him. "We care about you so much it hurts. It hurts so much, you'll never understand because you're selfishly staying the in the past so you can ruin everybody's lives around you so you can have an excuse to hurt them."

Marcel froze and looked down, sliding his hand off her wrist, he bit his lip.

"It's my fault." Marcel's voice sounded tired and weak.

"For what?"

"I killed them." He took a shaky breath in and let out a sob. "It's my fault they're dead."

"Honey, I don't know how to tell you this but.. it's always your fault." She frowned and tried to brush the tears off the young boy's cheeks.

He growled lowly in response and kept crying. "I shouldn't have been born."

"You shouldn't have."

"It's my fault they're dead.."

"It is. If it weren't for you being born they wouldn't have been killed."

"I shouldn't have lived."

"It should've been you instead of them, honey.."

"I'm so selfish and i'm a terrible person."

"All of that is true, I won't deny that."

"I wish I were fucking dead."

His grandmother didn't comment on the last bit, and instead just slipped her hand off his cheek and stood back up. She quietly turned towards the door and walked for it, ignoring the rest of Marcel's putdowns and insults he was hurling at himself through his sobs.

Marcel looked up slightly and watched her open the door gently, and look back at him. She smiled again, slightly glaring at Marcel as she spoke.

"I wish you were too."

And with that, she slammed the door so hard he thought the door was gonna break right then and there. Once confirming she was gone for good, he slapped himself hard and sobbed louder than ever before.

He hated when he fell for this, giving into those dark thoughts that were likely true. He knew she was right and he hated it. He just needed to get over it. Move on. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. He always failed at everything he did. He was a failure to everybody he knew, which isn't alot. He missed the good old days where his parents would leave for hours, and he would go off and sneak around in the forest and have the time of his life and could come home whenever he wanted because his parents didn't care. It wasn't the greatest, but it was far better than how things were now. He felt so much pain and he couldn't even pin down the reasons he felt this way. His parents wouldn't be proud. They'd hate him, just like how everybody else did. He wasn't going anywhere but the streets, and he hated it. He hated most of all that his grandmother was always right about him.

Marcel stopped crying for a moment and looked over at the bandages that were on his tiny shelf. His grandparents always insisted on him keeping some sort of medical supplies close at all times, it would help atleast somehow, they said, and bandages could be used for almost anything. Marcel finally shakily stood back and walked over to the desk, pulling up his long sleeves to stare at all his scars. He wouldn't have to see them for long.

Marcel carefully picked up the bandages up with his claws and tried to remember how his grandparents had taught him how to do it, and after a few tries, got it down. It was almost relaxing, and maybe even satisfying to watch the bandages slowly cover his wrists and hide everything on them. The blood from the wounds had mostly subsided by now, so he didn't worry about getting blood on the bandages. After he was done, he set the bandages back down and pulled his sleeves back up. His grandparents wouldn't notice them anyways.

He turned back towards his bed and walked over, carefully crawling ontop so that it wouldn't make any obnoxious noise. He let out a soft sigh, staring the wall as he tried to think about other ways he could let his emotions out and try and forget them. He kept thinking and thinking, and kept coming up with nothing. He remembered the alcohol that wasn't so safely hidden from Marcel that his grandparents often bought. They weren't alcoholics by any means. Just.. enjoyed drinking alot, he supposed. He noticed how happy and giddy they seemed to be when they were drunk, so what'll stop him from getting his hands on some and feeling better? There couldn't be too many repercussions. Thats where an idea finally popped up in his head, in which he smiled a little to himself.

Maybe he should try and get his hands on that alcohol for a night.


End file.
